Paying Back his Debts
by singingviolets
Summary: (Three-shot). Set during S6 E10. Arya carries out her scheme with the Freys, but the Kingslayer catches her in the act, leading to a conversation - however unlikely - between the vengeful Stark and the proud Lannister.
1. Chapter 1

Despite the festivities surrounding him, Jaime was extremely bored.

This was hardly a new phenomenon. Grand feasts and celebrations never amused him much. Born and bred in House Lannister, he was aware of all the political machinations that went on during these gatherings. He hated it all, not least because he himself was awful at politics, always relying on his sister for that. _Cersei_ , he thought, heart pounding. _One more festival, and I get to see her again. And Tommen, too._ Lately, they had disagreed and argued on certain topics, but that wasn't really new. And it didn't change the fact that he loved her.

Brightening up, he forced himself to engage in small talk. Luckily, it was only Bronn beside him, so he didn't have to do much. Unlike Jaime Lannister, Bronn rather enjoyed the festivities, freely laughing and flirting with women – and more. _Lucky him_ , thought Jaime, _he doesn't have to socialize carefully with stuffy noblemen_.

He felt a nudge at his side and turned to Bronn, who was gesturing at a servant girl staring at the two of them and complaining about Jaime attracting all the women. Jaime gazed at the servant girl. She was fairly pretty, indeed, but she did not come close to Cersei's beauty. Moreover, the look she was giving them did not seem flirtatious, though Jaime had a hard time figuring out what it was. It was somewhat unsettling.

-o-o-o-

Hidden amongst the festivities, Arya Stark was enjoying herself immensely.

Yes, she had to employ all of her willpower to keep herself from running into the hall and tearing everyone in there to shreds, but she concentrated on the plan. She looked down at the meat she was currently chopping. Fingers. Did they belong Lothar or Black Walder? Arya had already chopped up so much, she had already lost track.

Spilling the chopped up flesh into a pot to boil and grabbing a basket of bread to pass around, she left the kitchen to meander around the hall, hoping to catch some gossip about her family – or her other foes. But as soon as she stepped into the hall, her breath caught itself in her throat. She had seen these soldiers, and most importantly, she knew what house their golden armor belonged to.

House _Lannister_.

 _Oh, this was good_. Arya suppressed a smile, merely allowing her eyes to twinkle in delight. Two enemy houses here at once! She already had a plot of vengeance ready for one of them, but she would have to spend tonight concocting a scheme for the demise of the other.

Speaking of her plot of vengeance, where was the man himself, Walder Frey? _I hope he's devouring the pies_ , she thought, scanning the room for him. She had trouble finding him, but very soon, she had cast her eyes on a different recognizable individual.

Jaime Lannister. _Kingslayer_. Arya would recognize that lion's face anywhere, lover and father of Cersei and Joffrey – respectively – both on her kill list. But he had changed, she noticed, since she had last seen him in King's landing, all those years ago. He looked older, more weathered. Gone was the haughty sneer and the arrogantly raised eyebrows, to be replaced with the humble solemn stare of a man whose heart and pride had suffered. Gone were his rich, wavy golden locks, as he had adopted a shorter haircut, his hair turning darker and sandier than in the past. And yet, Arya noticed that although the years had surely taken their toll on his appearance, his features – instead of growing harsher and rougher – had actually softened. She wondered how much of this was due to his facial expression rather than the features themselves.

 _He's changed_ , the girl acknowledged. _Seems more…mellow_ , she decided was the best word to describe it. After all, she remembered, he had lost his sword hand and two of his children, _though at least one of them was a monster_ , she mused. Arya had mixed feelings about Joffrey's death – glad that he could no longer terrorize her sister, disappointed that she hadn't been the one to end him – but she had always tried to keep her thoughts to the former.

She noticed a soldier walk up to the Kingslayer and nudge him comfortably, pointing his finger in her direction. _Shit_ , she cursed, _I've been staring for too long_.

Best get back to those Frey pies.


	2. Chapter 2

Walder Frey was coming up to him, and Jaime had to suppress a groan.

He had encouraged Bronn to leave him in pursuit of more women and wine, because Bronn was being an annoying ass, as he often could be. _That's not completely true_ , a little voice inside him whispered, _you're just in a foul state_.

Jaime sighed. He had been moody for a while now, though he wasn't quite sure what it was that set it off. Of course, he hadn't been happy for a long time, not since, for a moment, his daughter had accepted him and called him father.

Right before she died in his arms, that is.

But there were other things on his mind. He was worried about Cersei, who was growing more and more unstable, and of course meeting Brienne – of all people – at Riverrun had thrown him off. Sitting in the hall of the Freys hadn't helped. _This was where the Starks were slaughtered_ _at the wedding, after being promised hospitality_ , he thought _. We have also been…promised hospitality._

Walder Frey was coming to him, and Jaime had to suppress a groan.

"This came together rather well," the old man remarked, pulling up a chair next to Jaime. "Your father would be pleased."

Jaime shuddered a bit at the thought of his father. He was dead now, but Jaime hadn't forgotten that it was he who conspired with the Freys for the Red Wedding.

"I'm sure he would be," he replied calmly.

"Edmure's back in the cell," continued Walder Frey, "can't go killing my son by law, wouldn't be right – give the family a bad name." Jaime had to suppress a snicker at this. The name Frey had already been dragged in the mud after the sacrilege of the Red Wedding. "The famous Blackfish, killed by foot soldiers, a 'legendary warrior' everyone said," Frey droned on.

"Have you done much fighting yourself?" Jaime suddenly asked with a touch of indignance. If he was going to listen to the old man's conquests, he wanted to hear about battles and wars, not political machinations and betrayal, which he so despised.

Now, despising betrayal was somewhat ironic for Jaime – for the Kingslayer. But who was to say he didn't despise his own self?

"No, I'm a bit old for all that," Frey replied, cutting off Jaime's thoughts.

"No, but – back in your day," Jaime pressed on.

"The purpose of fighting is defeating your enemies, isn't it?" Walder responded with a bit of a scowl. "I've defeated mine. Riverrun belonged to House Tully for a thousand years, now it's mine – what d'you call that? Victory," he boasted, a crooked gold-toothed sneer slowly emerging.

"Yes. You're a great conqueror," Jaime replied. His patience was wearing thin, as he could no longer hide his distaste for the old man sitting next to him.

"Go on, mock me boy, d'you think I mind? The Tullys mocked me for years, the Starks mocked me – where are they now?" Frey grinned. Jaime sighed inwardly, forcing his mind to drift from the endless ramblings of the old man. He noticed that the servant girl from before had come out, her eyes flashing at that last line from Walder Frey. _There's definitely something up with her_ , Jaime thought. At least he had this girl's stare to occupy his mind for a while, before it would be consumed by darker thoughts.

-o-o-o-

Walder Frey was sitting right there, and Arya had to suppress a menacing glare.

She had left the room to prepare the rest of the meat, which was now stuffed into a crust of dough, baking in the oven. Deciding that it would sit there for a while now, Arya returned to the hall, hoping to hear and see more of her enemies.

The girl looked around, scanning the room for the head of the Freys. Not finding him, she turned her eyes to where the Kingslayer had been sitting. He was still there, though his facial expression was rather frosty now. _Seems like he's having a miserable time_ , she thought, _I wonder who he's talking to that makes him grimace in disgust_. She walked to the side a bit in an attempt to get a glimpse of the man next to him.

Walder Frey was sitting right there, and Arya had to suppress a menacing glare.

It took all of her efforts to keep walking naturally, closer and closer to the two men in question. But she couldn't keep her eyes from widening at the sharp, grating sound of her family name from the mouth of the vile old man.

"—the Starks mocked me – where are they now?" Frey grinned. "You talk about war as if you're an expert but the one battle I remember you fighting you were captured by Robb Stark, the young wolf," he scoffed to the Kingslayer. Arya turned her eyes back to Jaime Lannister, who was clearly annoyed with the old Frey, though Arya wasn't sure why.

 _Maybe he has changed_ , a little voice told her, _maybe he's trying to be more honorable_. Arya scoffed at herself. The Kingslayer? An honorable knight? A _Lannister_ being an honorable knight? Hardly possible.

She gasped suddenly and turned around. Jaime Lannister had noticed her, and they had made eye contact again. _Not good_ , she thought _, not good! I can't let him get suspicious of me_. Arya quietly retreated to a corner to hear out the rest of the conversation, never daring to turn back towards the pair in case the Kingslayer still had his eyes on her.

"You talk about war as if you're an expert but the one battle I remember you fighting you were captured by Robb Stark, the young wolf," Frey scoffed, perhaps baiting the man across from him. But Jaime didn't reply, so the old man went on. "It doesn't matter. Here we are now, two Kingslayers," he paused. "We know what it's like to have them grovel at our faces and snigger behind our backs. We don't mind, do we?" he chuckled. "Fear," the old Frey finished, "is a marvelous thing."

"They don't fear the Freys, though, they fear the Lannisters," she heard an icy reply from the Lannister. "We gave you the Riverlands to hold the Riverlands. If we have to ride north and take them back for you every time you lose them, why do we need you?" he added. She heard a chair squeak across the floor – Jaime Lannister had left the table.

Did the Kingslayer just threaten Walder Frey?

 _Maybe he really has changed_.


	3. Chapter 3

_At last, the festival is over_ , thought Jaime with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure how long he could stand sitting next to Walder Frey, likely where a poor Northern lordling had once been slaughtered. The Freys, the hall, the unnerving servant girl – all of his surroundings had made him strangely nervous. Yet now the feast was done, and the Lannister men had retired to their camp. Jaime was about to do the same, but something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. It was that servant girl again, but the look in her eyes was different now – happy, almost gleeful.

The look of justice finally being served.

He wasn't sure if he was frightened or intrigued, but Jaime instinctively went to follow her. She took a winding path to the kitchens, where the rest of the staff had either left for bed or fallen asleep on the floor from too much labour and wine. Letting out a small chuckle, the girl opened the oven to retrieve two golden pies, which she kept giving adoring glances. Jaime watched as her face bubbled up in excitement and she stood for minutes calming herself down before resuming a blank servant's expression.

 _Why do I feel like something is going to happen_ , he thought. _I don't know if it's good or bad…but it'll finally be exciting._

Right now, only fighting could excite him. And perhaps Cersei.

He followed the servant girl as she traipsed happily out of the kitchen carrying her two pies and made her way back out into the great hall. All of the guests had already gone off to bed, save for Walder Frey himself, who sat lamenting the absence of his eldest sons at the festival. The girl quietly walked up to the dirty old lord and slowly pushed the tray of pies to him, but without managing to avoid a slap on the butt in the process. As the old man absentmindedly picked up a slice, Jaime noticed a spark of glee in the servant girl's eyes.

 _What in Seven hells is in that pie_ , he thought. But maybe he didn't really want to know.

"Where are my damn moron sons?" Walder kept shouting. "Black Walder and Lothar promised to be here by midday."

"They're here, my lord," the servant girl replied, calmly and innocently. But Jaime knew better. A chill ran down his spine.

He knew what was in that pie now.

"Well, what are they doing?" Frey asked, muttering something bitterly about his sons trimming their cunt hairs.

"They're already here, my lord," the servant girl repeated in the same calm, even – deadly – tone.

"Here, my lord," she repeated again, slowly this time, gesturing meaningfully to the pies. Jaime watched as Walder Frey took apart a slice, his face contorting in horror.

He watched as the girl murmured into his ear and swept her hand across her face. He watched as she thrust him in front of the mirror and stabbed him slowly with her pointy weapon. He watched as she herself turned towards the mirror and looked down upon the dying old man with a ghostly smile.

And that's when he finally gasped out loud. Because the brown haired and grey eyed head in the mirror, though older and darker than he once remembered, was unmistakable.

It was the face of a vengeful Arya Stark.

-o-o-o-

 _At last, the festival is over_ , thought Arya with a surge of joy.

All of the soldiers – Lannisters and Freys alike – had already returned to their tents. Quietly, Arya walked back to the kitchens, making almost no noise with her steps as she had learned to do back in Braavos. It was hard to keep silent, though, in this fluffy dress. _Such ridiculous garments_ , she thought, _only for ladies like Mother and Sansa_. But Mother was dead and gone, and Sansa…well, to be honest, Arya knew nothing of her older sister's whereabouts.

Finally, she'd arrived at the ovens where her pies had been baking. By this point, they'd probably finished already; she took them out quickly before they were burnt and marched straight back to the hall.

 _There he is_ , she thought, _completely alone_. Arya smiled. She didn't expect this part of the plan to be difficult, but never would she have thought the dirty old Frey would have left himself so defenseless.

She slowly walked up to him, handing him the pies, tolerating his lewd stares and groping as she told him what was in his meal. And the horrified face he made as she showed her true self and stabbed him slowly – repeating her family name over and over again because the North really does remember – was worth it.

But as she watched him die in the mirror, she noticed someone lingering in the back, watching Walder Frey's murder with eyes twinkling as if it was a mildly entertaining comedy. Arya's smile fell, then, because she recognized him all too well.

 _Careless,_ she thought _, too careless! I let the Kingslayer see me_. Her eyes darted around for a place to run, but it was too late. He sauntered over to her, his layers upon layers of Lannister armor clanging with every step.

"Well, well, Arya Stark," he started, sounding... _amused_ , she thought. "Off on a quest for revenge, are you? As is your right," he added with a nod and a bow.

"What are you doing," she replied with the haughtiest tone she could. She wasn't sure why exactly she hadn't run from the spot the second she'd glimpsed his face. Perhaps she had felt an urge to fight him one-on-one, to see if she'd improved enough to best the formerly best swordsman in all of Westeros. It was a foolish thought, she knew. One-on-one skills didn't matter, not in the end. Robb had been a genius battle commander, never losing a single fight, and he was dead.

Now he was avenged.

But somehow, even as she stood next to Walder Frey's fresh body, his blood still dripping on the ground up corpses of his sons, she missed her older brother as much as ever. She sighed.

"It doesn't really help, does it?" a voice next to her murmured bitterly. In her thoughts, Arya had almost forgotten the precarious situation she was in. Yet when she glanced at Jaime Lannister's face, into his hollow eyes that were so much a blue-green reflection of her own, she had a chilling feeling that she knew exactly what she was thinking about.

 _He hasn't answered my_ question, she thought, _what is he doing? He seems too friendly to want to kill me or take me to his_ sister. Yet that final thought didn't stop her from pointing Needle at him. Too many had seemed friendly in the past, only to reveal their cruelest intentions later. Like the Kingslayer's sister. But somehow, the nagging dislike Arya had harbored for Cersei Lannister from the very beginning wasn't present right now, standing in front of her twin brother.

"Calm down, I'm not going to attack you," he said, pulling up a chair and sitting down. "If I wanted to slaughter you or take you prisoner, don't you think I would have done so already?"

 _How does he know_ , Arya thought _, how does he read my mind so easily?_

"You know, I didn't like your father. Always so honourable, always so _stupidly_ honorable. Always judging those who didn't subscribe to his personal code," he started, sighing. "Your mother, though, I respected a great deal," he added, softening his tone.

"Then why did you kill her like that?" Arya blurted out. She couldn't help it. The Kingslayer, of all people, mocking her own father had riled her up. His face had immediately darkened, and he flinched.

"I did nothing of the sort," he proclaimed. "It was all my father's doing. Tyrion and I had no part in it at all. I hope you are astute enough not to judge a child for their parents' crimes."

 _Crimes_ , she thought, _so he at least acknowledges it was a crime_.

"Your mother, now, was a great woman. The only woman I've ever met, besides Cersei, who would go to hell and back for the sake of her children. She didn't want revenge for your father's death so much as to save her daughters. She left the past to dry to focus on the living," he kept on. "What they did to her – murdering her last living child in front of her eyes, as she thought – it was despicable. I am truly sorry about that."

Arya flinched. She bored her eyes into his face, searching for lies. _If I could even find a trace of a falsehood, this conversation would be easier_ , she thought. _He's being sincere_. She wasn't even sure why she was still here, listening to Jaime Lannister talk about her family.

 _Maybe that's exactly why_ , she thought, _because even though they're dead, you crave for any talk of them_.

Which is why before she could stop her little voice from speaking, Arya had uttered the three little words that erased some of the wrinkles on his face and lifted the corner of his lips just a tiny bit.

But that relief would be gone, because she was going to kill his sister next.


End file.
